


Common Knowledge

by devera



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Drug Use, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-18
Updated: 2013-10-18
Packaged: 2017-12-29 18:16:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1008511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/devera/pseuds/devera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A little weed makes Shaun chatty and gives Desmond the urge to overshare, which leads to a constructive use of downtime.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Common Knowledge

**Author's Note:**

> Unbetad and so very pwp. I started this ages ago in response to a kink meme prompt to do with Shaun's voice or dirty talk or something.
> 
> Let's just say this is some time soon after the group get to the cabin (post AC2) and that Shaun and Des are, for some reason I couldn't be bothered making up, on their own.

"I can't believe it," Desmond breathed, staring at the ceiling. "This is fucking fantastic."

He exhaled as slowly as possible, and then blinked and passed the joint back to Shaun. The nerve ends in his fingers tingled, Shaun's skin soft against his, and he watched as Shaun put the spiff to his lips and pressed them together as he inhaled, eyes heavy lidded behind his glasses, in the kind of slow motion, minute detail that you only got in the movies. Desmond could see every crease in Shaun's mouth as his lips pursed, the individual play of muscles in his throat as he drew the smoke into his lungs; he could even see the tiny prickle of brown stubble starting to show along his jaw line and just under his bottom lip, in that little indent that Rebecca had been talking the other day about getting a piercing in. He wondered what Shaun would look like with a labret; probably pretty funny, really, and the idea made Desmond snicker which in turn made him realise - man, was he ever _stoned_.

"Well, what the fuck else are we going to do up here?" Shaun was saying, like he didn't know, or care, that Desmond was giggling to himself. It was no joke to Shaun that'd he'd been left behind to babysit, but after Desmond had jokingly suggested they crack open a few beers – like the cabin was stocked with beers – Shaun had looked at him sideways, then dug into a bag and pulled out the biggest spiff Desmond had ever seen.

And now they were lying on the only bed in the room, sideways so their legs dangled off the edge, passing the joint back and forth, and to Desmond Shaun almost seemed like a different guy. He exhaled deeply, and his accent seemed to have gotten thicker the higher he got, Desmond thought, the same way all the tension that usually seemed to turn his gestures choppy and set his speech to stand-up routine machine-gun fire had gradually eased, leaving him with nothing but long, drawn out words and languid, indulgent gestures of his large, graceful hands.

"Yeah, what else?" Desmond laughed, because, well, they could have nailed all the furniture to the ceiling, just to see the look on Lucy and Rebecca's faces when they got back, but considering fine motor control wasn't exactly one of his strong points right now, it probably would have been doomed to failure from the start.

"I mean," Shaun continued, taking another toke and passing it back to Desmond. "You can't be in that machine all the time. You'd, like, your legs would shrink or something."

"That'd look pretty funny," Desmond agreed, snickering as he dragged on the spiff, paper clinging to his lips, the faint, acid burn of the spin Shaun had used when he'd rolled it making them taste bitter when he ran his tongue over them. "Hey, you think that's what happened to the other subjects? They just kind of shrivelled away to nothing?"

"No," Shaun said, lazy and deadpan. "The ones that didn't go crazy and kill themselves were sodding shot in the head when they'd outlived their usefulness."

"Oh," Desmond said, and that probably would have sobered him if he hadn't been, well, you know, off his fucking tree. "Lucky you guys rescued me then, huh? Don't think I'd like to have been shot."

"It's not fun, no."

Desmond blinked at that. It might have taken a couple of minutes. "You've been shot?"

"Yeah," Shaun grunted. "Want to see? Most painful fucking thing of my life. Aside from having to sit through reruns of Happy Days with Rebecca."

Desmond laughed – okay, maybe it was a giggle, but he was stoned – and rolled over towards Shaun on the bed. Shaun glanced over at him and then frowned and reached out.

"Give me that before you set the blanket on fire or something," he sighed and took the joint out of Desmond's hand and then pulled up his shirt with his other hand. Desmond leaned over some more, squinting to see, and then he did - pale, puckered skin about the size of a nickel in Shaun's side under his last rib.

"Wow," he said and touched it gently with his fingertips. The skin was raised and harder than everything around it and he couldn't stop running his fingers over it to feel the difference, pausing in the little indent in the middle where the bullet must have gone. The pad of his finger fit right in like it had been made for it. "Do you remember what it felt like?"

Shaun flinched a little and gave him an odd look. "Not really. I know it hurt but it was so far off the scale, I'm not really sure I… Desmond. Are you going to stop doing that any time soon?"

Desmond blinked at him, at the way he was staring at him – him, and not anywhere else – and then realised he was still running his fingers back and forth over Shaun's bared skin.

"Oh," he said, and drew his hand back. "Uh, sorry."

"That's alright," Shaun said mildly and didn't bother to pull his shirt back down again. "Except it was making me kind of randy."

"Oh," Desmond said again, and of course that made him look down, and Shaun wasn't kidding. He even looked, well, kind of big. Desmond hadn't really noticed that before. He was trim as well, under that preppy grandpa vest he insisted on wearing; flat stomach, the dip of his groin muscles tapering down over his hip bones and disappearing under the waistband of his trousers, a soft spray of hair around his navel, darkening as it trailed down over his abdomen in the same direction.

"Tend to get a bit horny when I'm high," Shaun drawled. "Nothing personal."

"Yeah?" Desmond said, and dragged his eyes up again, but he didn't really know if he was talking about the fact that Shaun was thinking about sex, or that it had nothing to do with Desmond. He flopped back down onto the bed and sighed. "I remember sex, you know. I even remember having sex stoned. Seems like such a long time ago now."

Beside him, Shaun twitched like he was laughing without bothering to make a noise. "Tell me about it. It's like there's two of me: pre-Abstergo Hastings and post-Abstergo Hastings. Pre-Abstergo Hastings had a lot of sex. There was this one time, yeah? I was dating this bird. We drank a few beers, and then got bent together. Like, really bent. So bent she had an orgasm, right there in front of me, all her clothes on, without either of us touching her." He sounded a bit wistful about it. "Most fucking brilliant thing I've ever seen."

"She had a spontaneous orgasm?" Desmond turned his head and stared. "Really? Wow. What the fuck were you saying to her?"

Shaun smiled vaguely at the ceiling. "Hmm. Well, I doubt it was me; was probably the pot. But I was guess I was talking about what I wanted to do to her, you know? Can't remember why we weren't doing it, of course, because I remember being pretty bloody horny. Think I was too stoned too move. And then she, she had this orgasm, Desmond, like in that movie, only _better_. Christ." And then he laughed. "And then she fell asleep. So there I am, stoned, horny, with a raging wood. I stumbled out of her flat, went to the first bar I could find and picked up. I only realised after he blew me that he probably wasn't even old enough to be in the bar in the first place. Jesus. Those were the days."

Desmond pushed himself over onto his side, found that he had to swallow a couple of times before he could get his voice to work. "You, uh… Wow."

Shaun's mouth did something complicated, an almost smile. "Shocked? Feeling threatened now you know?"

Desmond snorted. "Was that your first time?"

Shaun looked at him. "What? Having anonymous gay sex in a nightclub bathroom? Not precisely."

"Mine was when I was fifteen," Desmond said, flopping onto his back again and despite the way his heart pounded and his lips felt numb, it wasn't actually all that hard to say. "Except I was the guy. The other guy. I think I thought it was like, a good way to rebel against my dad, or something. Turned out I kind of liked it though."

Shaun was staring at him, his mouth open and his pupils blown. Of course, he was stoned too, so.

"Desmond," he started a little hoarsely. "That's really not something you should be telling me right now."

Desmond grinned recklessly. "Shocked?" he echoed. "Feeling threatened now you know?"

"Not particularly, no," Shaun said calmly. "More like wondering if you'd hit me if I told you how much wankage I'm going to get out of that."

"Wankage?"

"Like mileage, but for your nob. So, what happened?"

Desmond could feel his cheeks heating; actually his whole body felt too hot. It could have been the weed, but more likely it was the idea of jerking off, maybe even _Shaun_ jerking off thinking about _him_. It really had been a long time.

"There's nothing much to tell," he shrugged. "He was older by about five or six years and I followed him around the farm like a fucking puppy. I guess I thought he was cool, and I guess he thought he'd maybe shake me up a little, you know? But it just… I mean, when he touched me, I just… It felt so fucking good. I don't know. I just remember it was like it went from kissing to me on my knees with his… Well, you know the rest, right? Hey, you're hogging the roach."

He held his hand out for the joint, and Shaun stared at him, then he took a drag and Desmond figured he wanted some before Desmond finished it off, only Shaun leaned forward as Desmond reached over and then somehow he was kissing Shaun, or Shaun was kissing him, long and slow and really fucking thoroughly. And then the smoke Shaun had sucked into his lungs slid into Desmond's mouth, around his tongue, and _fuck_.

"Mmm," Desmond moaned without quite meaning to, sucking the second hand smoke in and holding it for a bit while Shaun propped himself up again, before letting it out on a long sigh and _man_ was he stoned. "That was really fucking nice, Shaun."

Shaun looked down at him, eyes hooded. "Yeah, it was, wasn't it," he said, and didn't smile.

Desmond felt his heart give a little kick. "So, uh," he continued. "Anyway. My story."

"Your story," Shaun agreed. "Did you swallow, or did he come on your face? I think maybe he came on your face. I know I would have."

He said it so matter of factly, it took Desmond's stoned brain a second to register.

"Jesus, Shaun!" he gasped when he did, because it sounded like Shaun was saying not so much _I would have_ as _I want to_ , and Desmond's brain was supplying mental images to that effect, which somehow did not seem to be a problem at all; just the opposite in fact. "Are you telling this or am I?" he demanded, a little crossly. "Anyway, I don't think he meant to. I kind of coughed at the wrong moment, and… well, it was kind of gross."

"Fuck," Shaun said shakily, like something was wrong, and, "Keep going." His voice was a little lower than it had been before and suddenly there was a warm weight on Desmond's thigh – Shaun's hand. Desmond wet his lips and looked down, saw Shaun's hand splayed on the leg of his jeans, and suddenly there didn't seem to be enough air in the room. He was actually pretty hard down there, he realised, now that someone's hand was in the general vicinity. It can't have escaped Shaun's notice, since it was his hand and all, and its warm, still pressure made Desmond shift a little, and open his legs slightly before he could think better of it. When he did – and Jesus, could he _be_ any more obvious? - he darted a look up at Shaun, and saw that Shaun's lips had parted in an expression that – if Desmond remembered right - looked a lot like lust. The look went straight to Desmond's lizard brain, and his whole body seemed to throb in answer. The pleasant hum of unfocused arousal he'd been feeling since they'd started talking about this – maybe even since Shaun had produced the weed in the first place - shifted with an almost audible snap into the sharp ache of active want.

"Yeah, well I.." he panted, trying to gather the thread of his thoughts back together but Shaun's hand… It wasn't doing anything, just resting on Desmond's thigh, thumb dragging back and forth against the crease where muscle swept down from his groin, but Desmond almost couldn't focus on anything else, he just wanted it to move, Christ… "I guess he… uh, kind of knew what was going on. In my head, I mean. 'Cause next thing I know, he's… I'm on my feet and my pants are down and my shirt up and he's jerking me off. I mean, I freaked – we were in the fucking supply barn, for fuck's sake. Anyone could have walked in – my _dad_ could have walked in – and he forced me to face the door, half naked, with my dick in his hand and, Christ, Shaun, it was so good, I –"

He stopped, jerked his gaze up, and Shaun was staring at him like that other guy had, back then; like a lot of guys, and not a few girls had, in fact – like Desmond was something worth staring at. Desmond could feel the rest of what he had been about to say – what he wanted to say - stuck on little spikes in his throat and wet his lips again.

"Did you let him fuck you?" Shaun asked, his eyes dark and Desmond shuddered and breathed out a shaky breath. At any other time, stoned or sober, it might have occurred to him how wrong it was talking about losing his virginity while lying on a bed with another guy's hand on his leg, but right now it was about as far from wrong as things got. "Tell me."

"Then touch me," Desmond blurted, and reached down, wrapped his fingers around Shaun's wrist and dragged his hand across to his cock. Not that Shaun seemed to need that much encouragement. Almost as soon as his hand brushed him, it became pressure, cupping the curve of Desmond's cock in his jeans and pushing gently against it, a long slow slide down to his swollen balls. Desmond gasped and arched into it, moaned and said, "Shaun," and suddenly Shaun was over him, and then they were kissing again, deep, slick passes of their tongues in each other's mouths, nothing but air between them. Desmond reached up, clutched Shaun's surprisingly broad shoulders and dragged him closer, trapping Shaun's hand between them and Shaun – maybe the pot had made him obliging as well as horny – pressed and stroked Desmond through the denim of his jeans, and oh, Christ, Desmond was so hard, wanted this so badly, he was almost dizzy with it.

"Changed my mind," Shaun panted, rolling him fully onto his back, following with his weight to pin him down and his voice had gone so rough he didn't even sound like himself any more. "Don't give a toss about that other bloke."

Desmond half laughed, half groaned, shifting beneath Shaun's weight, grinding up against him. "Yeah, me neither," he said, and then went back to kissing him, exploring his mouth with his tongue, biting on his bottom lip and finally, finally licking that little spot beneath his lip. Shaun felt amazing in his arms – and who the fuck would have guessed, huh? But he did, utterly amazing; and sucking on his tongue, feeling him moan and push his hard-on into Desmond's hip and squeeze Desmond's cock almost too hard in response made Desmond want more, a hell of a lot more, and all at once, and Christ, they had to slow down; they really had to slow down.

"Shaun," Desmond gasped, biting lightly against Shaun's throat to feel his groan vibrate against his teeth. "I'm gonna... You gotta stop. Fuck. Oh God."

"Yeah?" Shaun panted, his eyes dark, so dark behind his glasses as he smirked hungrily down at him. "You going to come in your pants, Desmond? Go on then. I want to watch."

"Shit!" Desmond gasped, and his hand shot down to his dick, squeezing both it and Shaun's fucking wicked hand in a desperate attempt not to do exactly that. "Shaun."

"Come on, Desmond," Shaun cajoled. "All that talk about tossing off. Why not?"

Desmond couldn't say he was surprised that Shaun was still a prick even in bed.

"Because," he said, just to be a prick back. "I really want to come while you're fucking me."

Shaun stared at him a second, and then said, "Jesus sodding Christ," in the kind of way that made it sound like Desmond had just punched him in the gut or something, and then suddenly it was a scramble, a tangle of limbs and clothing coming off on both sides, a minute of panic looking for a condom while Desmond lay there, completely naked except for his socks, trying not to touch himself and come before Shaun found lube, feeling like the whole world was expanding inside his skin. When Shaun came back and crawled over him, gloriously naked, when he was back in Desmond's arms and they were kissing again, wrapped up in each other, hands everywhere, the feel of him, of the length of his body and all that skin seemed more fucking right than Desmond remembered anything ever being before, except for maybe slipping into the skin of another man's memories. He sighed into Shaun's mouth and spread his legs, let Shaun sink between them and then moaned again at the slick, brief slide of Shaun's hand down under his dick, over his balls, against his perineum. And then a finger was pressing into him and it was like every nerve was firing, a cacophony of sensation that almost overwhelmed.

"Okay?" Shaun asked and Desmond shivered out a laugh, and then another, because, 'okay'? Okay? He was so far past okay there wasn't even a word for it.

"I'd say laughter wasn't the effect I was going for," Shaun murmured then, but he sounded like he was smiling. "But you're still as high as a kite, aren't you."

"Oh my fucking god, _yeah_ ," Desmond agreed, spreading his legs some more and grinning stupidly at Shaun's sharp intake of breath. "Fuck, you could probably stand on the other side of the room and _talk_ about fucking me and I'd still blow my wad."

"You want me to talk about fucking you?" Shaun said, in that voice that absolutely no one who knew him trusted, or so Desmond assumed.

" _No_ ," he said and then groaned loud when Shaun added another finger.

"Because I could do that; just slide my fingers out." And Shaun was such a bastard, such a lying, wonderful bastard, because he didn't do that. No. Instead he pushed his fingers in further, turning them, and curled them down against Desmond's prostate and the stimulation went through Desmond like a shot, stealing his breath and making him jerk and shudder like he was on some kind of string. "I could get up, and go sit over there, and tell you about how tight you're going to feel once I get in there, about how I'm going to fuck you hard enough to push the air out of your lungs, how I'm going to hold your legs open and you won't even have to beg me, Desmond, because you… you're…"

He seemed to lose the thread of his thought for a bit there, and Desmond didn't chid himself that it had nothing to do with the way he'd fumbled open the condom packet while Shaun had been talking and was rolling it down Shaun's cock, God, or trying to; trying to stay focused just on this task, on getting this done, while all his body wanted to do was spread itself greedily and bear down on Shaun's fingers as far as they would go and Shaun was wrong. There was going to be begging; any fucking minute now. His entire body was a mess of sensation, liquid like molten silver, all this pressure kept in by his skin and he was going to burst, or something, if Shaun didn't… fuck, if he didn't… Desmond groped for an arm, caught it and tried to haul Shaun towards him. He didn't even know if the condom was on right. He didn't fucking care.

"Shaun, come on. Come on, come on. Fuck. You need an invitation?" He'd give him a hundred, a million, if he wanted. "Fuck me already, Christ, would you just –"

He didn't finish, but then he didn’t have to. Shaun had his fingers out and Desmond's leg lifted high, almost hooked over his shoulder, and then he was pressing in and Desmond was so fucking ready for it, it felt like he was turning inside out.

"Oh God, oh yeah, come on."

"I should have known you'd be a pushy bottom," Shaun groaned breathlessly, and shoved Desmond's leg up and back until he was almost folded in half. All Desmond could feel was his fucking cock, hard and welcome. Heat was rushing to every part of his body, and a still somewhat sober portion – a very small portion – of his brain knew he was going to feel this tomorrow; it just didn't care.

"Shaun," he moaned in complaint, when Shaun just stopped there, holding him open, like he'd been saying he would, and "Shut up," Shaun said. "We're doing this my way."

"What's your way?" Desmond gasped, and Shaun grinned.

"Really bloomin' slow," he said.

And he wasn't kidding. He pushed into Desmond, a long slow slide that went on forever. Then he pulled out and pushed in again. Then he did it again, and then kept doing it, over and over, thrust after long, languorous thrust, until Desmond was doing nothing but moaning, until he was twisting to clutch at the bed spread, half in an attempt to get away and half because he didn't know _what_ he was doing anymore. Shaun just kept going, shifting until he was fucking him side on, and Desmond gasped for air and he couldn't urge Shaun on and definitely didn't want him to stop because he was high on it. It was more than just the dope; it was endorphins, and, Christ, having something other than his own hand and interrupted experiences in the Animus and memories of people he'd known that seemed like a century ago now, a life time, a hundred; and yeah, it was Shaun, screwing him like he fucking owned him and Desmond was high on it, higher than the god damn mountains, than the _skies_. This was possibly the best sex he was ever going to have ever again.

"Shaun," he groaned, as sensation rolled up his spine again and again and he wasn't sure he could take much more, it was too much, pressure enough to split his skin. Then Shaun was kissing him, and Desmond twisted around to kiss him back, desperately, moaning loud into his mouth, sparks firing behind his closed eyes, Shaun's breath harsh, his hips snapping in no longer slow but rough, uncontrolled. Desmond held on, and felt like he was flying off into the unknown all at the same time, and then everything seemed to contract down, one tiny, frozen moment, and then suddenly stars burst in his head, pleasure a rush from his centre out, remaking him from blankness into something that was so bright it burned out everything else.

When he eventually came down, became aware, opened his eyes again and blinked the room into focus, the world was subtly different. Or maybe not so subtly, because there was Shaun, propped on his side, watching Desmond as he lay sprawled face down on the bed. He looked wrecked, replete, his eyes behind his glasses heavy lidded like a lion after a feast, his hair all over the place. By the warmth and weight, one of his hands was resting proprietarily on the curve of Desmond's bare arse, skimming slowly up and down as if he hadn't gotten enough of touching him yet and for a while Desmond could only just lie there and stare at him, because he was fucking beautiful, and Desmond had never noticed it before.

"Mnph," he said eventually, shivering as Shaun's hand slid down to the back of his thigh, his fingers trailing over damp, hidden spaces. Shaun smiled.

"Welcome back," he drawled, as if Desmond had gone somewhere, and thinking about those stars, maybe Desmond had. "And if you're trying to say that was brilliant, I'm inclined to agree."

"Mnphnnn," Desmond said again. He didn't feel like moving. Ever again. "Youfuckwithyourglasseson..."

This time Shaun laughed softly. "Not always, but I can't see without them," he said.

Desmond wasn't sure, but he thought maybe that was a good thing. "I'm hungry," he replied, and this time Shaun laughed outright.

"What are you saying, Miles?" he demanded, but he was smiling. "I get you stoned, provide you with conversation, fuck your brains out and now I'm supposed to go fetch snacks? What are you, a princess?"

Desmond blinked at him, and he was still stoned – probably - because he could only think, yeah, Princess of the Universe. "Mmmyeah, might be," he mumbled. "Gimme enough sessions in the machine, bet I'm Queen of fricking England."

"Funny," Shaun snorted. "But I very much doubt it. And also, mind your bloody colonial manners. The last thing I want to think about – ever – is You Know Who with her legs in the air."

Desmond blinked as that particular mental image resolved itself in his head, then choked out a laugh, due to said image being complete with the kinds of sound effects Desmond had been providing not that long ago. And then he thought about Shaun in the context, giving it to her, and that was even funnier.

"Oh, come on, Shaun," he snickered. "Stop being so narrow-minded; she's probably a wildcat between the sheets."

"Oh my God," Shaun moaned, rolling away from him and putting his hands over his ears. "Stop it, stop it."

"Oh, yeah, I bet you could give it to her real-" Desmond started, laughing, and Shaun suddenly rolled back over, grappled Desmond over onto his back and pounced. Desmond was still laughing when Shaun's tongue pushed into his mouth, but he stopped, mostly due to lack of interest.

"I think I'd rather give it to you," Shaun mumbled eventually, and Desmond had to relearn how to breathe before he could answer.

And maybe it was the weed, but Desmond had already confessed his biggest secret tonight. Discovering he had one more to share wasn't really that big a deal, not when Shaun's hands were doing surprisingly interesting things to his body.

"Yeah," he agreed, pulling Shaun back down again. " I think I'd rather that too."


End file.
